


Where Angels Fear To Tread

by lavender_euro505



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1930s, African American English, Anna Vock Laura Fredy Thoma Anna Sieber and Fanny Eichenberger were real people, Based on a historical Swiss lesbian organization, Bisexuality, Classism, Damen-Club Amitia, Great Depression, Multi, Original work - Freeform, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Pre-war era, Switzerland, at one point the main character is 16/17, mention of abortion, use of the word ‘colored’ to mean ‘black’
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25009870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_euro505/pseuds/lavender_euro505
Summary: “[...] I just couldn’t stand America and I was one of the first colored Americans to move to Paris. Oh yes, Bricktop was there as well. Me and her were the only two, and we had a marvelous time. [...]”Josephine Baker and Ada “Bricktop” Smith were two of the first Black women to make the move from the United States to Europe in the 1920s. But in the late spring of 1934, there were three. What Miss Baker didn’t know is the journey of a third woman named Serafina Johnson.In pursuit of the American Dream, 19-year-old Serafina leaves Texas to tour with the notorious Black Cat Company as a fresh-faced dancer. But when a little white lie leaves her stranded in Switzerland, she finds solace in an angel and the historic lesbian organization, Damen-Club Amitia.
Relationships: Gerry Ulysses/Grandmama Rue, Hanns Stolz/Franzi Kessler, Serafina/Angèle, Serafina/John
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. Matchbox Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> First and foremost, I want to address the underage warning. Due to the timeline and 20th century antiquity, the main character Serafina, is 16 when she meets her future husband, John. They get married when she is 17. Although this was common for women like Serafina during the time (e.g. Bessie Smith), I do not condone nor do I support underage interactions. I hope I make it clear in the first chapter that Serafina doesn’t really either. Unfortunately, vulnerable women are placed and forced into such situations, but things will look up for Serafina in the end. :) As I add more chapters, I will update warnings immediately. But as far as it goes, there is no additional tags to add. 
> 
> This is an original work. It is also semi-autobiographical and self-indulgent. It is based on a magazine advert I found in an old Swiss-Lesbian organization from the 1930s called Damen-Club Amitia. Their magazine at the time, Freundschafts-Banner, was focused on lesbians and functioned to help decriminalize homosexuality in Switzerland. Later, the magazine changed its name to The Circle and became exclusively for gay men. There’s a good movie about The Circle, too. 
> 
> This is for the end of Pride month and to celebrate the continued work put in place by our community’s leaders and activists. This work is especially in honor of four amazing, Black women from the story’s era: Ma Rainey, Bessie Smith, Josephine Baker and Billie Holiday.
> 
> Enjoy!

__

> _Well I‘m leavin‘ town, but that won’t make me stay  
>  I leavin town, cryin won't make me stay  
>  Baby, the more you cry, the farther you drive me away_

**Matchbox Blues — Blind Lemon Jefferson (1927)**

_Late March, 1933_

“That takes time, baby. Time I don’t have,” John Porter wipes at his mouth and tosses his handkerchief on their rickety kitchen table. “If I’m wasting time, I’m not making money. And I’ve gots to be making money!”

“So then, are you wasting time when you come home to me?” 

Serafina Johnson looks up at her husband from her seat across from him. It is late in the evening, they’ve just finished supper and for dessert, they're having arguments. 

John leans forward in his chair, smacking the back of his hand on the palm of the other to make a point. “Sera, do you not understand? The bills… they’re piling up. I need to pay off our loans...”

“ _Your_ loans.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Well, you’re married to me, so they’re ours.” 

Sera turns away from him and she can practically feel the heat of his breath as he sighs. 

“You know, I can’t be here at home all day. How can I make it if I do?” John stares down at his empty plate, and his stomach growls. “A man doesn’t stay home with his wife."

He pauses to wait for a reply that doesn't come. Instead, Sera keeps her eyes down and her head turned. It was always the same old arguments, getting them nowhere. 

"Okay, I'll tell you what he does," he starts ticking off the list with his long fingers. "He gets out, gets a job and makes money, darling. _That’s_ how that works.”

Sera can feel her mouth twitch with what she wants to say.

“At least, if you was home, you’d be here with me more often. That’s for sure.” John throws his hands up, exasperatedly. 

“ _And not. Making. Money._ ” 

Sera slaps her hand on the table. “Money, money, money. I don’t care about the damn money! We been arguing about it for two years now!” 

John scoffs, pulling out his tobacco pipe from his front pocket. “But now you need every penny you can get. Besides, it’s not like we’d be making babies or nothing, no how.” 

He puts the pipe in his mouth, and Sera decides to hold her tongue.

John lights a match. “We can’t afford it, anyway,” she tells him.

“I know we can’t. So, if worse comes to worse, just… get rid of it.” He lights his tobacco. “Y’know, if it happens too soon.”

Sera raises an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“We can’t afford it, like you said,” Sera gives him an affronted look, leaning forward.

“And what about your rich family, huh? I thought the Porters had money. They can’t help you? Help us?” 

"Is that why you married me?" 

Sera doesn't say anything, and John stares at her, mouth twitching. He knew just as well as him that an unmarried black woman in America in the 1930s was the worst thing to be. With no prospects, who wanted you?

John shakes his head and laughs.

“Anyway, baby, in this economy? Please. My parents couldn’t give me a penny right now, if I asked ‘em.” 

"Shame." Sera mumbles to her empty plate. 

John takes a long puff of his pipe before releasing it into the air. Sera turns her nose away.

“See, I started with this show business because I saw the money in it. Back in 1925, really. Uncle Elrich opened my eyes. Got me, _got us_ , a good start, too. And then what happens?” He makes a loud crashing sound and waves his pipe in the air. “The whole system collapses and we take a hard blow.” 

She’d heard so many stories about this well-off Uncle Elrich that seemed to be in possession of a money tree. Her mother-in-law praised him so much for being the family’s savior in need, it likely gave her son a complex about his own abilities. Elrich gave so much to family members, it’s a wonder he had anything left for himself. It’d become clear to Serafina that a lack of status put John in a tough tick. She felt pity for her husband.

“Elrich gon’ help us out now?” John simply shakes his head at her. Seemed he pitied her, too.

“He had every intention of moving us on up,” he takes another long drag. “But we can’t rely on that now. Stick with me, and I’ll bring the butter _and the bacon_ home.” 

He winks at her, blowing smoke into the air. Sera uses her handkerchief to pinch her nose. 

“John, you know I’m allergic.” 

He pretends to ignore her, but blows the other way. 

They sit in an uncomfortable silence. It was usually like that after dinner. Sometime, around a year after marrying, they didn't have much to say to each other. If they wasn't arguing about money, they was arguing about starting a family. Sera wasn't ready and John couldn't afford it. He just wanted to make Mama and Daddy proud, see. That's what grandkids are for, and John wasn't getting any older. Sera wouldn't bring a child into the world knowing they'd live a life in poverty. She'd barely escaped herself. Hell, she was still escaping.

She looks up to see John staring at her. How long had he been doing that, she thinks. It wasn't a sweet look, either, not that he didn't try to put on the charm. It was calculating, a measured stare. It was one that Sera recognized when the men down town would look at her funny, their tails wagging. It was the look that told her she'd be in bed with his soon. She didn't mind it, the sex. Sometimes she enjoyed it. Sometimes she just needed to scratch the itch. This time, she wanted to slap the look off his face.

“You know, you could be a star, baby,” he fills his lungs with another drag, half lidded eyes gazing at her. 

Sera wants to gauge them out. 

_Such a handsome face, for a well-intentioned man, if only a little off putting by his remarks_ , she thinks. _A pity._  
The more he talks, the more she wants to leave.

She lifts herself up from her chair and places her palms flat on the table.

“John Porter, I’m already a star.” 

_Early April, 1933_

Where she come from, if you Black and you want to be somebody, you either an athlete or an entertainer. 

Serafina was making her monthly visit to see her grandmama, Rue, back where Sera grew up.

“Grandmama, is this the way it’ll always be?”

Those cloudy brown eyes cut real sharp to look over at her granddaughter as she sat on the bottom step of the front porch. Rue made a tutting sound with her tongue as she rocked back and forth. The only thing that could be heard was the creaking wood and the screaming cicadas nearby Rue’s one bedroom home.

It was late spring and Serafina could already feel the sweat dripping down her back, making her yellow checkered sundress cling to her skin. Summer hadn’t arrived in Texas yet despite it already feeling like the middle of July. 

Rue breaks her silence. 

“Baby, nothing lasts forever.”

Serafina huffs out a breath, “Them cotton fields sure do.”

Rue hoots out a laugh and nearly rocks herself out of her chair. From where they lived in the community, they could see the cotton fields on one side and a field of sunflowers on the other. They were the same ones their enslaved ancestors picked on hot spring days, just like this. Some of them still do, but on their own time and of their own accord, for their own wealth. It was only one of the Texas towns built up by freed slaves, where children regularly went to school, families attended church, and you could mail a letter to your cousin up north if you wanted to at the local post office down the road. 

“Mmmhmm!” Rue hums. “Them cotton fields sure dolast forever, don’t they?”

Serafina twists around to catch her Grandmama’s amused smile. Sera smiles back and leans on her hands, her legs stretched out in front of her. 

“That’s why you need to make it, child. Ain’t no money round here. We do good for ourselves, but that’s it.” It reminds her of the conversation she had with John. 

This makes Serafina bite her lip. She wasn’t sure if city life was really for her, but she knew she didn’t want to stay in the country forever. She had big dreams. 

“Sera, my angel,” Rue taps at the wooden porch, getting her granddaughter’s attention. “You make something of yourself, you hear? Don’t hold back for nobody. No man!”

Rue taps the wood again, but this time makes sure she taps on Serafinas hand, too.

“Hey, ow!” She yanks it back with a frown.

“You hear me?”

“Yeah, Grandmama,” she rubs at her sore hand. “I hear you.”

“You done worked too hard, for too long, hear? But it gon‘ be alright.” Rue leans back, eyes closed, rocking, rocking, rocking.

“And what if it's not?”

She stops rocking.

“If you is happy, it's gon’ be alright. If you ain’t, baby, then you can leave. I know you want to be like them gals on the records, singin’ and dancin’ for them white folk.”

Serafina juts out her lip. “They sing for colored folk, too,” she mumbles.

“Well, all I know... I’m happy when you is happy.” Rue hums loudly, the sound of Bessie Smith on her lips. Serafina joins in.

_“There ain’t nothing I can do, or nothing I can say, that folks don’t criticize me. But I’m goin to do just as I want to anyway. And I don’t care if they all despise me…”_

They get so caught up that they hardly hear someone come up. Dust flies up in the wake of John’s borrowed car, the brakes squealing like a hog as he stops in front of the house. 

“Mmmhm!” Rue tuts, as John steps out the front, wearing a beige linen suit and blue dress shirt. He even had on his Sunday shoes and was sporting a new conk pompadour hairdo. Sera wondered who’d given him that. 

Sera continues singing the “Ain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do” tune, eyes closed. She doesn’t want to think about John being here right now, coming to pick her up. 

“Ooh my! That Bessie Smith issa mean gal, ain’t she, Grandmama?” 

Rue stops rocking again and narrows her eyes. 

“Well, Mr. John Porter, ain’t no other quite like her.” Sera opens her eyes to look over at Rue.

“Ol’ Ma Rainey sang the blues before Miss Bessie did, Grandmama.”

John chuckles, “Ma Rainey was also bringing in the money before Miss Bessie, too. Made her who she is, didn’t she? Made an honest woman outta her.”

Rue clicks her tongue and lifts out of her rocking chair. Serafina stands up to help her to her feet. 

“What you know about an honest woman, John Porter? You think you know something with your fancy education and a marriage certificate to my granddaughter?”

If a handsome, dark man like John Porter could blush, Grandma Rue sure could make it happen. He straightens out his linen suit and follows Serafina and Rue inside the small house. 

“Pardon me for saying, but I like to think I try, Madame.” Sera wants to roll her eyes. If he wasn’t “dumbing down” his speech for her, he was using his elevated education to seem charming. But Rue wasn’t the type of woman to be swayed and she had a retort for everything.

“Uh-huh! Keep on trying, young man!”

“Young man?” Sera laughs, leading Rue to the kitchen table and fanning herself with her hand. “Grandma, he’s due to be 30 any day now!” Rue shakes her head, but cracks a smile. John’s the only one not laughing. 

“Laugh all you want, then, huh? Got me the finest broad this side of the creek and a career in show business. What more could I want?” Rue makes a face. 

“You could want a child or two, but she ain’t giving you that. She gots her dreams, boy.” John levels Sera with a look.

“And what could be more of a dream than starting a family, now, Sera?” She shrugs. 

“Well, at least it could be something I could afford,” she mumbles to the floor. 

She knew it was a conversation for a later time. _Why’d Grandma Rue have to go and bring it up now? John was here and they was just leaving._

This town was in her blood. The place she called home and where she lived with her grandmother and later, Gerry Ulysses, her grandfather. He was a white man, but he died some years back. It was already unprecedented that a white man would live in a black settlement willingly, especially after slavery.

Serafina left school when she was sixteen and started working, doing odd jobs where she could. That’s how she met John Porter. He’d been to visit family, but had been gone so long, the poor fellow had lost his way. She wasn’t entirely sure if this was true, but Serafina took pity on the man nearly 10 years her senior, and told him the right way to go. They met each other again, the next day, while Sera was in town and they seemed to hit it off rather quickly. Rue complained he was too smart for his own good, and too old to be messing about with school girls. Serafina could do better. 

But what else could a young, black girl out of school do on her own? 

They got married in 1932, when Sera was seventeen. There was no wedding, nothing special - not that John couldn’t afford it at the time, but Sera didn’t want to make a fuss. John just let it be.

Sera prayed to a God she hoped could hear her, because with her sights set on stardom and traveling to Europe, hopefully, John would let that be too, and let her go.

“Come on, Sera. We’ll talk about this at home.”

 _It was a long way to Dallas,_ she thought. 

Later that evening, back in their home, things remained the same. 

Seems a week away in the country hadn’t really changed John’s mind nor his attitude. The minute they stepped inside the house, he was suiting up in a different outfit and saying he needed to be at the recording studio to meet with more clients.

“This late at night? You should be careful.” John waves her off and grabs his battered briefcase. 

“I’m a man, alright. I know how to handle myself,” giving himself one more look in the mirror he straightens up his jacket before leaning his lips Sera’s way. She sighs and kisses him. Just a peck. 

He pouts.

She kisses him again and he deepens it. She thinks about how she hadn’t really missed doing this while she was gone. 

He lets her go and opens their front door.

“Leave me some supper, will you? I might be a little late, but your man still needs to eat.” He winks at her and he’s gone. 

Left to her own devices, Sera decides to make her favorite meal for dinner: a generous plate of tomato-lentil soup. John likes it, too. He’s always telling Sera how eating less meat is actually healthier for you. Sometimes, for special occasions, they’d pair it with a little red wine. 

Sera took out their last bottle, only really enough left for half a glass. _That’d do,_ she tells herself. They couldn’t buy anymore right now anyway, what with their lack of money and the Prohibition. She told herself she deserved it for all her trying. 

Dinner in her belly and wine in her hand, Sera thinks back to a certain conversation she had with John near the beginning of the year.

_“John, think you can come home early today?” Serafina was at her day job, nannying for a well-to-do couple with three small children. They were having a nap, which gave Sera enough time to make a quick call._

_She could hear John hesitating, huffing loudly on the other end, so she interjects, hoping to persuade him._

_“Mrs. Whitehead said I could head back around four o’clock today. That should give me enough time to run to the shops real quick, it ain’t been snowing at all today, so I should be fast! I can get our supper started, we can have some of that nice wine your uncle sent us, and run a bath maybe—”_

_“Sera,” John’s voice interrupts. “What you buying at the grocery shops now, girl? We made a budget and we five dollars short on our bills as it is! Now, how’d that happen?” Sera huffs, shrugging._

_“Oh, I don’t know, John, yous the one good at math.”_

_“Hey now, girl, don’t try me now,” She could hear the frustration in his voice, and it sounded like he was already having a rough day._

_She didn’t really care, though._

_“And what do I look like to you, huh? A food sample?”_

_“A food sample!” She could imagine his face crumpled up in irritated confusion._

_Sera rolled her eyes. “Talking about try me…” She mumbles off the line._

_“Serafina Porter…”_

_“My name is Serafina Johnson.”_

_His voice gets real low and even. “Serafina Johnson-Porter, when I get home, we’re having a talk. Honestly, I’d expect your grandmother to act like this, but I know your grandfather would never allow it.”_

_Sera cradles the bulky black phone against her cheek, letting it rest on her shoulder. She crosses her arms, hoping her voice doesn’t shake._

_“I’m done talking, John.”_

_He sighs, “I’m here, making us money. Can’t you see that?” The amount of effort it takes for him not to yell at her must be great, because Serafina wants to scream. But the children are still asleep._

_“How else are we gonna eat, huh?” He goes on. “How else are we gonna make it, huh? You always talking about being a star this and being a star that. Fine, but who’s gonna get you there?”_

_Sera ignores him, her face hot, as she wipes an errant tear from her face. Suddenly, her nose is runny and the phone keeps slipping and she really needs to check on the children. Maybe John was right..._

_“You there?”_

_Her reply is barely a whisper._

_“Not for long.”_

_There’s a heavy click when she hangs up._

Three months later, it seems they’re still having the same money-fueled arguments.

Despite it all, he never truly raised his voice at her. 

In fact, since she met him, Sera had never seen him get angry once. Not even when she’d accidentally spilled hair lye on his new suit. His mother had given it to him as a wedding present. She’d spent a fortune on it, he’d said, but he never raised his voice. 

He never beat her.

At least he wasn't abusive, she told herself. At least, I could stay and try to work things out.

But his absence was always felt, especially when he started working in entertainment. 

The thing was, John A. Porter was a good man. He was a loyal man. He’d also come for her while she was at Grandmama Rue’s. Sera thought she’d be happier about that. Wasn’t it a good sign? Didn’t that mean he loved her? That he still wanted her? 

The look that he gave her as they went to bed that night told her otherwise. She wanted to be there with him and in many ways she cared and loved this charming, older man, but he was miles away. His mind was filled with thoughts of raking in money, while his body was busy taking in honey. 

See the thing is, Serafina was miles away, too. As she lay on their rumpled sheets, sweat down her legs and back, feeling tired and sore, she blinked her eyes up at the darkness. Despite the lack of light, all she could see was stars. 

And she was the brightest one. 

_One Year Later_

_April 8, 1934_

“Someone gonna snatch you up, girl! Look at them legs! Too bad we can’t afford another full-time dancer right now.” 

Albert Talley, manager of Club ZouZou and Sera’s boss on her night shifts. She’d recently been promoted from the chorus line, sharing a stage with at least seven other girls to perform her own routines solo. She’d come a long way from a year ago. She picks up the wad of cash left at the edge of the stage and stuffs half of it in the front of her dress.

Sera shakes her head at Albert, wearing a coy smile, stooping down to readjust the silver buckle of her shoes. They were new and rubbing at her ankles. She’d surely have blisters the next day, looking after the Whitehead’s three six-year-olds; she was still nannying in the day and dancing at night. _Times were desperate_ , she told her sore feet. She needed the money. 

She’d finally found this opportunity through a connection of John’s. It was good money and she’d already saved up a year’s worth of funds, but the Depression made work hard. Her grandmama had already tried to pawn off their family ring, an heirloom from her grandfather’s side. But, Serafina wouldn’t allow it, no matter how much the ring was worth. So, Rue kept it and let Sera save her own money. It was no business of hers, Rue had told her.

“Stop, now Albert, I gotta get on home,” she laughs, pulling off the cooking apron she wore under her dress. She collects the rest of her tips from Albert, plus her week’s wages. _Another ten dollars for the savings fund_ , she thinks, deciding to catch a taxi cab back home. 

“See you next week, Sojo!” Albert shouts at her from the empty pavement. The other girls had already gone home, but Sera liked to stick around for a cheeky drink or two afterward. Sometimes, she’d flirt with the men around the club’s back bar and they’d throw in a few nickels or dimes her way. Some poor bastard drunkenly threw her a twenty dollar bill once. Sera felt badly for flirting with them, no intention of giving them anything in return, but thanked God for her good fortune, anyway. 

Sera waves good-bye at Albert, just as a taxi becomes available. In the streetlight, she can make out a pair of eyes gleaming from the darkness. The person jumps out and opens the door widely for her. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” She stops him with a hand to his forearm and he flinches back, confused. 

“Sorry…” she whispers, gently closing the door to the cab to read the sign across the side. Sera has to squint in the dimmed light just to see, but the words E-U-R-O-P-E-A-N T-O-U-R is as clear as day. Seems that’s the only words she could ever see now days. 

“ _Black Cat Company seeks colored dancers for European tour,_ ” she reads, almost breathlessly. There’s a phone number for a Mr. Cato that she should call if she wants to audition. The next line stops her:

“ _Must speak German._ ” 

Sera’s heart sinks. The dream was over.

A week later, she gets a phone call at work. 

Twisting the long, thick coil around her finger, she says in a breathless voice, “Whitehead residence, Seraphina Johnson speaking, how may I help you?” 

“This is Cato Black. We ah— auditioned you last week, ‘member?” Sera’s heart nearly stops. Why were they calling her? Sure, she’d auditioned and had done really well, she thought, but competition was tight. There were colored women as bright-skinned as white women there and pretty too, with pretty smiles and pretty hair. It was clear Black Cat Company had made their choice, then and there. They got their five girls from the area. What’d they want with her?

“Ye-yes, sir. I remember yous,” Sera clears her throat, heat rising into her cheeks. “But how can I help you, sir?”

“Our dancer,” he starts with a slow drawl, his words nearly dripping from the telephone line, “She done made a fool of this company saying she can speak German…But you can speak German, right?” 

If Sera’s heart is in her chest, it’s at her throat now.

She was about to make a fool of him, too.

“ _Ja,_ ” she squeaks. 

Working in a white family’s home, she’d found numerous newspapers to pick up and practice reading when the children were asleep. Headlines about Germany and their new leader made their way across the Atlantic and the German word that Sera could recall at that moment was ‘yes’. 

The silence was too long, and she’s not sure if Cato’s got second thoughts or simply just none too sharp, but his voice comes booming back through the phone, as if he’d stepped away for a moment.

“Huh, well, girl… you just got ye’self a ticket to Berlin. Can you be at the bus station around noon tomorrow?” Did Sera’s heart stop? All she can hear is Cato’s muffled voice dripping down the line. She hopes she remembers all that he tells her.

“Mmhm! It’s gon’ be outta sight! Now, we leave for New York first. Spend a couple of days there and get acclimated with the group. I know it’s quick, but we got a show to do and you seem to learn fast, huh? I seen you in action at the clubs here in Dallas.” Sera nods, speechless. “After that, we spend ten days touring France, another five days in Switzerland, and then a month in Berlin!” He’s speaking so fast, he has to take a long breath. “How does that sound, _Fräulein?_ ” 

“ _Gut._ ” 

“Good! See you then!” 

Her ears ring as he slaps the receiver down and ends the call. She crumbles against the wall, phone cradled in her lap. She faintly hears one of the children wailing for her from the other room. Her head hurts. She picks herself up and then does three things: before leaving work, and when the children don’t see, she makes a quick call to Rue to tell her the news; when the Whiteheads return home, she quits; then, at home, she tells John.

“My angel, look at you. Go ahead, then,” Rue giggles, her voice crackling through the line from the poor connection. Sera smiles, tears twinkling in her eyes. She looks over her shoulder from her spot in the sitting room. She hopes the children don’t run through her.

She nods, rubbing at her nose. “I can’t _believe_ it, Grandmamma. It’s happening for me.” 

“Be safe and you do the damn thing. I know you been wantin’ it for a while now. Grandmama so proud of you.” Sera chokes back her tears, furiously scrubbing her hand over her eyes. 

“Yeah, I know, Grandmama. Thank you.”

“You tell John yet?” 

Silence.

“Not yet,” she hears commotion in one of the bedrooms. “But I will. I promise.”

“I put away some money for you, baby. I hid it in your suitcase when you was down here last month.”

“Grandmama!”

“Don’t ‘Grandmama’ me! A thank you will do.” Sera can hear the smile in her voice, and she hiccups, feeling the tears springing back up again.

“Serafina! Get in here, David’s trying to set my doll’s hair on fire!” Sera squeezes her eyes shut.

“Thank you, Grandmama, but I gotta go,” Only a few more hours, she tells herself. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, angel.” 

It’s the last time she hears her grandmother's voice for a long while. 

Talking to the Whiteheads is a chore. Begging them to let her go was something she hadn’t prepared for, but they finally, after an hour relent. They send her home with her monthly wages and a scowl for the late notice. She can’t count how many times she’d said, sorry. She recounts her money, just to make sure they hadn’t skimped out on her due to spite, but they hadn’t. _Tiny blessings_ , she whispers to herself. 

Going back home in the late afternoon, she knows she has supper to prepare and some washing up to do. It should give her enough time to think of the speech she’ll deliver for John. 

She leaves out the part about “speaking German” and somehow, he’s oddly calm about her leaving to go to Europe for nearly two months. He simply shrugs his shoulders and smiles.

“I know you’ll come back home,” is how he puts it. 

They have sex that night, and afterward, Sera’s pillow is wet with tears. Even after years spent with this man, things still don’t feel quite right. And, now, she's leaving. 

She wipes her face, trying not to jostle John in his sleep. _Chin up, Sojo_ , she whispers quietly to herself.

That’s what Albert would always say to cheer her up. It’d been a hard year, working three jobs: one, with the Whiteheads, two at the club and three at home. Now, that was all going to change, she promised herself.

“I made it, Grandmama”, she whispers. From her spot in bed, she can see her suitcase stuffed to the brim. Her outfits, shoes, money, photographs, and an old journal filled it’s thick leather interior. 

The next few days with the rest of the company will be a testament to Sera’s abilities, but the true test will lie in how well she can pull off a convincing Marlene Dietrich impression.


	2. Ain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A married woman going on her own to Europe…” Pearl folds her arms across herself studying her daughter-in-law with a sharp look. Sera picks her head up and meets her eye.
> 
> “It’s always been my dream, Pearl. That didn’t stop because I married your son.” 
> 
> John and Pearl see Seraphina off at the train station. She’s leaving home.

_There ain’t nothing I can do, or nothing I can say,  
That folks don’t criticize me;  
But I’m goin’ to do just as I want to anyway,  
And I don’t care if they all despise me._

**Ain’t Nobody’s Business If I Do -- Bessie Smith (1923)**

She could feel John Porter’s eyes at her back as she led him and her mother-in-law, Pearl, to the train station. 

Cato Black called Sera late last night to explain the process. She was still amazed at how quickly everything was put together: photos, passports, visas and venue bookings. Apparently, the Company had been proactive in the meantime and had gathered what they needed during the audition process. 

“You were always our reserved choice, Ms. Serafina,” Cato had told her on the call. “To help speed up the process, just bring in your birth certificate. If you don’t have it, don’t worry too much. Lots of us don’t.” Sera bites her lip; she didn’t have one.

“What about a picture? For the passport.” Cato laughs.

“We’ve gots a picture of you from the auditions. Standard procedure with the Black Cat Company. We just keep ‘em in case of replacements. You know, anything goes on the road,” Sera nods, like she knew. “Just be ready and you’ll be fine.” 

Sera had the distinct feeling that he didn’t just mean ready about her dance routines. 

“Of course, Mr. Black.” 

“Call me, Cato,” in the background she hears Someone echo his name in a rough tone. “And don’t be late tomorrow, girlie. We’ve got the two-twelve train. Don’t worry about finding us. It’s a small station. You’ll see us.” Sera grins at the image, feeling her chest fill with pride and something else. 

“Sounds grand, Mr. Cato!” His responding laugh makes her smile; at least she was doing something right.

“Don’t be late now,” Cato repeats. “See you then, girlie.” And like that the call ended, and Sera tossed and turned all night. 

It’s the next morning and Sera is nothing but a bundle hotwired nerves. She hadn’t even left the continent yet. John made sure to tell her as such as they made their way toward the train station. Riding in her mother-in-law’s borrowed car, at least the floorboards were still there. John practically begged Pearl to loan it to them under the condition that she be brought along to see the Black Cat Company herself. Sera suspected she only wanted to judge her daughter-in-law’s life choices. 

Sera jumps out of the car as soon as John puts it into park. He whips his head around, mouth open, watching her yank the car door open and pull out her belongings. John forbid her to put them up front with her. 

“Now, golly, Sera! Gon’ take the paint off with the way you handling Mama’s car.” Sera wants to roll her eyes, but just throws her hands on her hips, exasperatedly. 

“John, we can’t be late! _He said._ ” 

“I know what he said,” John steps out of the car, dusting off his long pant leg as he goes. Pearl sits, waiting to be tended to, not going to lift a single gloved finger. 

A car pulls up beside them, blowing dust in its wake. The driver mimicked Sera, jumping out of their car, sending the Johnson’s a hurried head nod, and making his way into the tiny corner store they’d all parked at. They were about a half a mile away from the train station. Sera never inquired why they didn’t just park there, but she had a feeling it was because of the parking fare they needed to pay - and couldn’t afford. John, of course, had to save face in front of his mama. 

It’s a wonder, Sera thought as John helped Pearl out of the car dressed in her best attire, that they’d both dress to the nines for a short trip to the train station. 

Pearl must have read her thoughts.

“Always make a good first impression, Sera,” Pearl purses her lips, eyeing Sera’s well-worn dress. “Remember that.” 

Sera holds her head up, copying her mother-in-law’s walk, as she grabs her bags. John stops her and takes them himself. She won’t argue, so she lets him. 

Sera looks across the horizon and can make out the station from afar. It didn’t seem far, but in the warm Texas sun, it would have made all the difference. She could already feel a drop of sweat dripping down her back. Still, she didn’t dare ask any questions nor complain.

It didn’t stop her mother-in-law, though. 

She gives John a hard look, “Why are we parked so far out, hm? Be better to park there, wouldn’t it?” John grips Sera’s bags tighter.

“We’ll be alright, Ma. A little walk will be good for us.” 

“Huh! Good for who?” Pearl mutters. Sera walks ahead of them, but not enough to avoid Pearl’s constant questioning. She told herself the woman meant well.

“And when is this train getting to New York, Sera? Have you got enough money with you?” She clicks her tongue. “I just worry, since we’ve had to park so far out…” Sera clamps her lips together, holding back a laugh. She’s not sure if the jab is for her or for John. 

“I’ve got enough, Pearl, don’t worry. We should be at New York at twelve, tomorrow,” She answers, lengthening her stride and watching her wristwatch. “We need to hurry though, or I won’t.” John huffs at this.

“We’ll get there, Sera,” agitation evident in his voice. “You just need to be patient and trust me.” 

“Speaking of, who is this Cato Black? How’s his reputation? Are you staying with him? It’s not good for a married woman to go off with some man she hardly knows,” Pearl stops to fix her show buckle. “I just bought these. What a sorry purchase!” Sera and John both stop, Pearl bent over at the middle, wrestling with her shoe. 

“Ma, c’mon, now. We gots to go!” Pearl straightens right up at that pointing a slightly crooked finger at her son.

“John Porter, you say, _‘we need to go’._ I didn’t send you to school to sound like a field slave!” She bends back down to do up her shoe. “Now, give me just a minute!” Sera bites the inside of her cheek, her feet itching to keep moving. 

Waving a hand at her face, useless, she says, “Now, we haven’t got a minute, Pearl,” she checks her watch again and looks back toward the direction of the station. “We need to keep moving. Cato said, _‘don’t be late’!_ ” 

“Mhmm,” Pearl hums, fixing her sun hat and striding past them both. “And what else did he tell you, hm?” 

Sera sighs; John follows. 

“He’s a decent man. The Company has a good reputation and—“

“Says who?” Pearl interrupts. Sera ignores her; she’d trust them. 

“Besides, there’s other girls in the company... I’ll room with them.”

“Are any of them married?” Pearl asks, turning her head to glance back at Sera. Picking up her pace, Sera matches her stride. 

“Uh, no?” 

Pearl huffs. 

“Mhmm, interesting.” 

John clears his throat to add something, but Pearl doesn’t let him. 

She cuts her eyes to the side toward Sera. “And money, Serafina Porter? You’ve got plenty of that?” Sera holds her head up.

“I’ve _gots_ money, Pearl.” Her mother-in-law puts her hands up in surrender, a small frown on her ruby red lips. Sera fixes her with a small glare before walking steadfastly again. 

“And,” she adds. “I’m staying with another girl in the company, Amala Van Kallen.” 

“Sounds foreign.” 

“She is,” Sera informs. She checks her watch again: 1:57. They had exactly fifteen minutes. She gulps, but her throat feels tight and her heart nearly leaps out of her chest as she speeds down the path again. 

“Ain’t she from Sweden?” John asks, sounding just as out of breath, matching Sera’s quick strides. He smiles at his wife.

“She’s from Denmark.” 

Pearl makes a disapproving noise. John gives her a look, shifting the bags in his hands.

“Is she a colored girl?” 

Sera gives him a long look, “John, ain’t none of us in Sweden.” 

“Sure not,” Pearl agrees, making a tutting sound. “But why do they need a white woman from Europe in this company?”

“She ain’t. She as black as me. Darker, I think,” Sera wipes at her brow, the station finally coming into view. “She helps with accounts. Cato said we’d get on like a house on fire.” 

Above, the Dallas sun beat down on the roof of the central train station, making the horizon jump and sizzle like bacon in a frying pan. 

“Driving would have been faster,” Pearl mutters, rushing ahead both of them again to the shaded area in front of the station doors. 

“Do what you can, Mother.” John replies, hustling along behind her, his neck collar and shirt soaked through with sweat. So much for a grand impression, Sera thought.

“Do what you can?” Pearl asks him, looking at Sera, and waiting for someone to open the door. “Or do what you want?” She makes sure to give Sera an eyeful.

Sera levels her with a look. Her last one. 

“Sometimes,” Sera reaches for the door, pulling it open. “You get to have both.” 

Pearl lifts a white gloved finger up to Sera’s face, stopping short of the station’s entrance. Inside, Sera could already hear Cato talking animatedly. 

“Now you listen here. I thought John was giving me something real funny to laugh at when he told me you was quitting both of your jobs to travel around the world,” Sera had to look down at Pearl, the top of her hat coming up to her chin. “I told him that if you don’t come back,” she lowers her voice. “He should leave you.” 

The two women stare each other down before John ushers them inside toward an area where large fans were set up to circulate the hot air. Pearl’s mouth twists in distaste.

“Mm! It’s like someone blowing their hot breath in your face!” John chuckles like it’s funny, probably trying to dispel the tension. Sera keeps her mouth shut, steadily marching toward her new family for the next two months. Cato had mentioned it was a rare opportunity, to be picked up by a reputable company and tour Europe, but maybe Sera was lucky. _‘God has blessed me, Mr. Black. I must been lucky all my life,’_ she’d told him. He laughed and said he didn’t believe in God, but if He’s the reason why, maybe he should. Sera simply smiled and said, _‘maybe so.’_

“We was gettin’ worried now, girlie,” Cato’s booming voice bellows out, a smile stretching across his face.

“No worries, Mr. Cato,” Sera puts on her best smile as a lie slips easily from her lips. “My mother-in-law passed out from the heat, see, so we was running a little late.” 

Behind her, Pearl tuts and starts to object, but Cato beats her to it with a deep laugh. He playfully jabs an elbow into John who, standing next to Cato, looked like a child, and tips his hat at the Porter family. 

“Well, I’m glad to see you’se is alright now, huh,” he sweeps his wide eyes around and winks at Pearl, to which she raises her eyebrows, and nods his head toward the rest of the company. “Amala gots your papers and train ticket. You bring the money for the boat ride?” 

Pearl’s eyebrows quirk upwards again and Sera nods discreetly, looking at her feet. Cato watches her, nods and heads off toward the platform. Pearl clicks her tongue again and Sera nearly wants to rip it out.

“A married woman going on her own to Europe…” Pearl folds her arms across herself studying her daughter-in-law with a sharp look. Sera picks her head up and meets her eye.

“It’s always been my dream, Pearl. That didn’t stop because I married your son.” John clears his throat, moving to wrap a hand around Sera’s shoulders. It was the first time they’d really touched each other in a month. 

“That’s my Sera. A head full of dreams, huh?” He tugs her to his side as the train makes its first whistle. 

“Time to go,” Sera whispers, pulling away from her husband’s grip. He stops her, catching her arm just before she gets too far. 

“Can’t forget this before you go,” she feels herself wince slightly as John leans forward. He presses something into her hand and gives her a small smile. She looks down to find his passport, outfitted with her picture. Below it reads, _“Mrs. John A. Porter”._

John pulls her back in for a tight, bone-crushing hug. “You’re official now!” She can smell his thick cologne trying to mask the sticky smell of sweat. Nodding along, she tucks the passport into her breast pocket and gives her best impression of a smile. It was the last thing John would do for her. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, finally able to pull away, looking at Pearl as she does. “But I’ve gots to go now.” One of the girls, Amala, she guesses, steps up to them silently and hands Sera her train ticket and itinerary. 

“You’ll sit with me,” she informs her, a row of straight white teeth peeking out from behind full red lips. In the U.S., her accent didn’t seem to match her, but maybe it would be different over in Europe, Sera thought. 

_Europe._

Sera finally relaxes as she turns to John and takes the rest of her belongings. He begins to lean forward again, this time for a kiss. It’s almost become an involuntary reaction to squeeze her eyes shut, hoping to God that she can forget what that feels like. John’s face feels too clammy and rough against her skin and the kiss is over just as quickly as it began. As Sera says a quiet good-bye to them both, following Amala toward the rail cars, she can just barely hear Pearl giving her grief as she walks away. 

The station is small, like Cato mentioned, and packed near the platform as riders shuffle into lines to board. Amala and Sera reach the rest of the company as her new companion quickly points everyone out: Cato, the company manager and namesake; Patrick, the head accountant; Sam, the stage manager and three other dancers. All of them stood with their belongings and yellow tickets under a large white sign that read, _**NEGRO**_ in large block letters. 

“I thought there was six of us,” Sera whispers, recounting the women in the group. Amala shakes her head. 

“No, that one was denied her passport, you know,” Sera’s eyes widen at the news. “They said she causes _“racial disturbances”_ , so she can’t go.” Amala shrugs her shoulders as if to say, it is what it is. Sera fixes her eyes forward, not wanting to look back at the people she’d leave behind, whose voices have gotten lost in the steady thrum of the passengers. The train whistles again and the crowd shifts toward the open car doors. 

“Like cattle,” Sera mumbles, watching as people nearly fall over themselves getting up the thin metal steps. She pulls out her joint passport and runs her thumb across her name - her married name. With her lips pulled into a tight line, Sera looks over her shoulder, finding John’s face. 

She expected him to look a little sad, at least, but it was Pearl who wore the biggest frown. She stared back at John, his mouth stretched into a wide smile, waving. It’s a chore to match his energy and she wonders absently if she ever really loved him at all.

She watches as John steps through the crowd, pushing his way to get to her. Her heart speeds up in her chest. _Lord, he’s gonna try to stop me,_ she thinks, watching as he breathlessly comes to stand in front of her. 

“Any last words, my lady, before you go?” He asks, still wearing that same goofy grin. Sera shakes her head, sidestepping him to keep up with the moving line. 

“John, I’m sorry… We’re almost boarding now,” Her real answer was no. 

“We ain’t gon’ see each other for two whole months now, Sera… Ain’t you worried?” He takes her wrist and Sera looks at him a little taken aback. Amala cuts her eyes at him, too, and Sera shifts in front of him. 

“About what, John?” she whispers. “You stepping out on me? Like you said, it’s two months and I’ll be back.” John laughs, like he’d never make such an insinuation.

“Baby,” he cradles her cheek with a soft hand. “Of course I ain’t worried. Honest. I’ll just miss you is all...” 

He eyes her, his small, dark eyes staring back at her with a love that she can’t seem to give to him. Before she can say much else, his hand finds its way around the back of her neck and pulls her against him, lips and teeth clacking against each other in a bruising kiss. Some folks behind them start cheering and it only seeks to motivate John further. Did he enjoy the performance of a last good-bye kiss or was he just that in love, Sera thought. He proceeds to give the people a show, pulling Sera against his sweat-soaked clothes and holding her in place by the neck and jaw. 

Sera tries real hard not to shove him away. Instead, she bites his lip and pushes.

John holds his mouth and smiles, “Minx.” 

As she follows Amala toward the train doors, she can still smell traces of him on her skin. She wills herself not to frown or wipe her face just yet. It was now or never, though, as her booted heel steps up the metal stair into the train car. She looks back and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Bye, John.” 

“I’ll be seeing you, Mrs. Porter.” 

Amala is waiting for her just inside and they both traverse through the narrow carriageway for a pair of open seats. 

“What are you doing leaving a gas like him, Seraphina? If I were you, I’d never leave.” She comments, as Sera settles into her seat, looking out the clear pane window. The train whistles loudly for the final time, the car rocking slightly as the doors are closed shut. She can see John is already standing again with his mother, waving diligently at the train that hasn’t even started moving yet. 

The seat beside her dips as Sera picks her hand up to wave back. Amala sighs and attempts to stretch her legs in front of her.

“We have a lot of travel to do. Are you ready?” Sera shrugs.

“I have to be.” Amala chuckles, nodding. She reaches forward into her bag to pull a scarf around her shoulders. 

“You need to be. With all the singing and dancing and translating you will do… you will be a busy girl.” Sera turns away from her, busying herself with the bags at her feet, feeling the train slowly pick up speed. 

“Um, you don’t speak German then?” 

“No,” Amala sighs. “Dutch. It is a bit different.” A young Pullman porter with smooth, tanned skin stops at their seats. 

“Would you fine ladies be interested in reading the best Negro magazine in the entire United States?” He holds a magazine out toward them, _The Chicago Defender,_ written in bold across the front. Amala looks at him and shrugs, pulling out her coin purse. 

“Keep the change.” The porter grins, a wide gap in his teeth making him look younger than he probably was. 

“I heard that Negro women like us travel more often than people know,” Amala remarks, flipping through the pages. The train jerks forward and Sera can no longer see the station. She settles into her seat, closing her eyes.

She’s leaving home. 

“Cato was smart to pick you.” Amala’s comment makes Sera look up from her half-slumber.

“Hmm?”

“You speak German… and you’se pretty,” she chuckles to herself. “Let’s hope you can dance too, heh?” 

Before she can manage a quick nap, Sera wonders where she can get her hands on a German-English dictionary.

**Author's Note:**

> Sources for the summary:  
> Josephine Baker quote: https://www.theguardian.com/2015/aug/26/Josephine-baker-interview-1974  
> Swiss-Lesbian Organization: Damenclub Amitia - https://www.e-periodica.ch/digbib/view?pid=kre-001:1934:2#8


End file.
